The Seance Diaries
by LunaTickGalasriniel
Summary: The diaries of Klaus Hargreeves of the Umbrella Academy. A tribute to a life of debauchery and general inclinations towards insanity. Enjoy, if you insist.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I did not create the Umbrella Academy

Disclaimer- I did not create the Umbrella Academy. Gerard Way and Gabriel Ba did.

Preface-

The whole world is burning and I've created it so. Fool, idiot, drugged up loser. I can see all this blood and turmoil just whirling around in carefree horror, and I caused it. By leaving.

By living.

By discussing doom with the dead.

I was always the freak, always the one who was going to end up as a basket case. I've got no vice you see, no sane vice at least. Speed's fine and dandy, but it'll screw with your head, it'll debauch your mind, and it turns happy little innocence to cynicism and boredom. I shouldn't care really; I don't love any of them, hardly what I'd call a family. We're just a culmination of whack-jobs in a screwed up mansion trying to _save the world. _**Bullshit.**

The world never really needed saving, no us, no threat. No threat, no us.

Twisted circle and all that.

That silly, monocle-toting bastard, he really shouldn't have given a damn, he should've watched the world burn. He didn't have the heart not to.

But to be honest, I need to effectively save this world one last time, because I'd hate to end it personally. I'm not a destruction sort of guy.


	2. Chapter the First: Cave Felix

Disclaimer: I had not the pleasure of writing The Umbrella Academy

**Disclaimer**: I had not the pleasure of writing The Umbrella Academy. I merely adore it.

**A/N**: I hope this goes well, there aren't many people on this who've read The Umbrella Academy. Shame.

Onwards…

The air around me is thick and cold, freezing even. I'm sitting on some dilapidated street corner, there's not much here. The general waste and detritus of everyday life, a half-devoured Hershey's bar, a used condom, a couple of heroin needles. Dull. Homogenous. Boring.

See me yawn?

There's a kid starring at me from across the street, god he's spooked, it's as if he's seeing some twisted ghost just taunting his eyeballs with existence. I bring the cigarette to my lips, it burns my throat as I inhale, making my spine buzz like an electric chair. I blow the stray locks of ginger hair from my face irritably; I am not in a pleasant mood. I have not been in such a mood for a while now. I'd express this to you in interpretive dance, but I missed my last class. Something catches my eye, a bit of graffiti; it's quite a good piece of art really. It's this one winged Lego angel, kind of bleeding paint. I sidle over, enticed by this charmingly illegal mural. Tracing the wing I sigh, how wonderful it would be to have wings. I can fly, and that's all well and good, but to have wings. Great feathered ones with blood and gore and ink. To be majestic and terrible, like some evil angel. An angel of death…

I continue down the sidewalk, creeping out that gawping kid by making my eyes tip down and sucking in my cheeks. Making myself be a hollow puppet to a frightened ten-year-old audience, round of applause? Flicking the spent cigarette butt to the concrete carpet I shove my hands in my pockets, taking in the sights and smells. There's a rundown motel and a diner which looks like it's been set up by a colony of maggots. A few dead looking trees punctuate greying signposts and houses which could easily be mistaken for shacks. Piss, grease and cut grass are all I can smell. Why the hell am I here? I ask myself, and where the hell is here?

A cat brushes against my leg, purring loudly. I smile, for the first time in a month. It's a cute little feline; it's got these big green eyes which stare into your soul and splodges of black, white and ginger smearing its body. I kiss the animal's nose affectionately, out of spontaneous want more than anything. The cat bats my cheek in reply, but purrs louder. I am completely enamoured with this delightful creature.

I must name him!

"I name you… Vincent." I grin, a little evilly admittedly, but I smile properly all the same. He mewls back which I guess is approval enough, so I start walking, expecting my new friend to run back from whence he came. He doesn't. Instead, the newly appointed Vincent begins to follow me, keeping up with my long, striding paces. I have a fleeting urge to fly, or levitate, whatever it is. Scooping up Vincent I project myself upward, not caring for the scream of the kid from earlier or the cat claws piercing my thigh. Despite his initial surprise, Vincent quite likes flying and begins to purr so loud I fear for his ear-drums. Lighting another cigarette I continue in the direction of home and insanity. I laugh madly, loving my latest neurosis. Vincent caterwauls along. The angel of death and his companion, his familiar if you will. Screaming as in unison.

Happy? Happy happy…


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**: Sorry this has taken a while, things to do, people to see, plans to carry out… etc. Thank you for all your wonderful comments! You're all awesome. 

**Disclaimer**: this is a trifling interpretation of someone else's character- Gerard Way and Gabriel Ba's character.

I am in the city again; the familiar labyrinth is quite nostalgic- in that revolting sort of way. You know what I mean. When every memory seems to choke up and vomit itself into your mind, suffocating all routes there ever were to sanity, and consequently fucking up your day. Vincent, who is the most charming and most intuitive creature I have ever encountered, knows exactly what I'm feeling. He purrs quietly and licks my hand in feline affection.

I wish I was a cat; the idea of having four legs is attractive. Or is it five?

Whatever, I hate math...

And I can feel the city.

The city is alive, with dead people and living people, and the stench of fast food and marijuana, and sex and slavery, and hell and heaven and everything, everything, everyone, anyone… It is embracing its sordid children with defiant arms. I missed this place.

I hate the feelings I get here, I can remember Horror, and hanging out with Rumour and Space, I can remember listening to Vanya play violin. And I remember how good she was at it… How I never really told her that.

And how, actually, I don't really care…

What's the point?

We all went somewhere else, and when we returned to each other, we fucked everything up further. So, what am I doing? Going back. Again.

Rock 'n' Roll baby. Rock 'n' Roll.

And then I see her, walking out the shadows with fierce intent, Vanya. Her lips pulled back in a hideous hiss, her eyes of flaming rage looking directly at my hovering, cat-grasping form.

"Klaus, where the hell have you been?" She screams. Freaking banshee woman…

I raise my palm. _Hello._


End file.
